


and this is how it ends

by annieane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, don't read it i got so many things wrong, here take it I don't like it anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieane/pseuds/annieane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elia Martell would always be the forgotten one. They would sing of Lyanna Stark in the years to come, that tragic beautiful figure, of Ashara Dayne, leaping from the Palestone Sword, but they would forget Elia of Dorne, dismiss her as nothing without Rhaegar.<br/>Little did they know.<br/>Written for a tumblr prompt.<br/>OKAY BASICALLY I GOT EVERYTHING WRONG SO DON'T TOUCH IT OR IF YOU'RE MORBIDLY CURIOUS I EXPLAIN IN THE END NOTES OKAY BYE</p>
            </blockquote>





	and this is how it ends

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Tell her, this is the story of Elia of Dorne. And this is how it ends. (Unbent, unbowed, unbroken had always been more than words to her. Robert's rebellion from Elia's POV) It was far longer than I imagined it would be.

Elia sat still, her smile frozen on her face. It was the same expression as when she had been told that she would bear no more babes, that certain delirious happiness that has had bad news sprung upon it, so suddenly that it does not know how to react. Happiness that feels ridiculously out of place and that should flee, but cannot, will not, instead stubbornly clinging to a place where it does not belong.

She watched Rhaegar ride on his horse past her without a second glance. _Mayhaps he is only making a celebratory circuit,_ she reassured herself. _He will not dishonour me, he is a good man._

He dishonoured her.

He placed the garland of pale blue roses in a maiden's lap, a mere girl who was pretty, but surely not beautiful. She did not take it, instead smiling deferentially, until Rhaegar took back the wreath and beckoned for her to bend her head. Then she appeared shocked, her hands not even reaching for the flowers, her head frozen, instead giving Elia a fleeting gaze of startled horror.

The silence was deafening as Rhaegar roared: "A crown for the queen of love and beauty! Winter roses for the lady of winter, Lyanna Stark!"

_A crown for a queen yes, but a false queen, not the true queen._

Unbent, unbowed, unbroken, Elia reminded herself, they had always been more than words for her. She clapped politely, a smile more frozen than the Starks's homeland fixed on place, and the crowd followed her example, cheering and whooping wildly as Rhaegar placed the wreath on the girl's dark hair when she bowed at last. She had to begrudgingly admit that they looked most becoming on the girl, those striking blooms accenting her pale skin and rosy flush, her serious but laughing eyes, and her shining hair. She even managed a smile.

The men next to her did not. Three men with her long face looked furious, while another- a Baratheon, Elia remembered, the young Lord of the Stormlands who was betrothed to Lyanna, looked murderous and ready to plunge a dirk in Rhaegar's heart. His hand was twitching towards a hilt of something, Elia noticed. Once the applause had died down, Elia was the first to leave the stands and retire to her chambers in the hideous monstrosity that was Harrenhal. The rooms were lavishly furnished but the stench of dragon fire and charred stone still lingered even after almost three hundred years.

Elia hated it.

"Why would he do this to me, Ashara," Elia wept, the sobs racking her body like the coughs which so often tore through it. "Answer me! Is he so cruel to humiliate me in front of the entire court? Have I been so blind to think that I was ever worthy of him?"  
Ashara said nothing, but simply stroked Elia's back, holding her close until Elia finally stopped her cries and wiped her tears away roughly. She could not meet Ashara's eyes, partly due to the fact that she was ashamed, but also because her eyes were the precise shade of violet as Rhaegar's.  
 _Do not moon over him, he was never mine to love._

"Elia?" Rhaegar's voice drifted in. "May I come in?"

"No," Ashara answered fiercely. "You may not."

"It is quite alright," Elia replied, her voice trembling. She hastily rearranged her hair. "Come in. Ashara, please leave." She left, throwing a hateful glare at him, and swishes her silk skirts in the most menacing way possible. Rhaegar waited until the door was locked and bolted until he began speaking.

"I did not mean to torment you," he smiled. "Elia, love. I have told you of the prophecy of the Prince who was Promised, have I not? The dragon must have three heads, I have realised. I thought that Rhaenys, Aegon and I were the three heads, but I have been wrong."

"My children are not dragons?" Elia sniffled. She had nearly died birthing Aegon, that little boy who slept soundly in the chamber next to this one.

"No," Rhaegar reassured her. "I am not a dragon. And I have seen the truth in my dreams. The Prince who was Promised is that of a song of ice and fire, do you realise? You must have ice and fire, and where better to have ice than from the Starks? The blood of the First Men runs in their veins, ready to join with the blood of Old Valyria. Lyanna is both icy and fiery- she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree, a real wolf maid- you will love her as much as I love her, I promise you. Lyanna's child with me shall be the third head. Do you understand, love? I must do this out of duty."

"Why-" she half choked out. Her self pity quickly dissolved to give way to pure anger. "No. This is impossible. Lyanna Stark- does she love you? Will she follow you gladly? She is betrothed to Robert Baratheon, have you forgotten that?"

"I will be the king, have you forgotten that?" Rhaegar's eyes were cold. _He is nothing more than a spoilt little boy, thinking he can get whatever he wants._ "I will make Baratheon relinquish his claim on her. She is destined for me, he will understand. And she will understand as well. If she does not love me already, she will."

"He will not give her up easily!" Elia spat. "Have you lost your wits? The Starks and Baratheons will not stand for this insult to their pride!"

"How is that an insult?" Rhaegar hissed. "They should be grateful! Her child will live gloriously and liberate the world!"

"You are turning into your father," her voice trembled. His reaction was instantaneous, he pinned her against the wall, his hand around her dark throat.

"Never compare me to my father," his voice was full of malice and hatred. "I am nothing like him. Nothing!"He released her, and she immediately collapsed to the floor, clutching her neck and gasping for breath.

"He thinks I am plotting against him," he said quietly. "He thinks I conspire."

"Mayhaps you are," _Unbent, unbowed, unbroken._ "You may bring the realm to ruins, do you realise that?"

"It is better a few men die than perpetual darkness swallow the world and kill us all," Rhaegar answered. "If I try to persuade them, convince them and they agree, will you be content? Would that there were any other way. I do not wish to kidnap Lyanna Stark, I only wish to honour you, but... It is not a perfect decision, I realise, but will it satisfy you?"

"Yes," Elia replied bitterly. "As much as it could possibly. Aegon the Conquerer had two wives, I suppose you may as well. I shall be tormented every day, yet I shall suffer for your sake. Mayhaps I shall even help you court her, who knows?"

"You are a good woman, Elia Martell," the slow smile spread across his face, the same smile she had grown to love. "I am not worthy of a wife such as you."  
No, you are not, she almost replied, but instead pasted on a false smile that even mummers would be proud of.

* * *

  
   
Elia saw Lyanna Stark with her retinue the next day. Up close, she was prettier and less comely at the same time, for her face was long and almost horse like, yet her eyes were the most startling shade of grey. In some lights, they were almost colourless, but when she turned her face into the shadow, they were dark and brooding. There was an enchanting liveliness- nay, wildness- about her demeanour, and her every step oozed a certain enthusiasm and happiness at which Elia had to fight a smile. Her company clearly thought the same. A short crannogman beamed at her in adoration, as if she were some sort of liberating goddess or heroine. Her brothers huddled around her protectively, all with her long face and grey eyes. The eldest was the most handsome, the middle the most solemn, and the youngest the most playful. Her betrothed loved her with all his heart and more. They would make a handsome couple, with their black hair and changeable eyes, the tall storm lord and the wolfish winter maid. Elia could see that now, and babes with glossy dark tresses, strong features and stormy eyes.

He will never give her up, she realised suddenly. Rhaegar was a fool.

"Your Grace," the middle son bowed, noticing her approach. "It is an honour. I am Eddard Stark, my brothers Brandon and Benjen, my father's banner man Howland Reed, my foster brother, the Lord of the Stormlands, Robert Baratheon, and his betrothed and my sister, Lyanna. "

"Your Grace," the others murmured. Lyanna curtsied, albeit reluctantly.

"It is a pleasure," Elia replied demurely. "Lyanna Stark, the Queen of Love and Beauty at yesterday's tourney, am I correct?"

"If it please your Grace," her tone was equally demure, but her eyes glittered with the taste of a challenge.

"It does," she answered, but the words were bitter on her tongue. "I can understand why, you are a very pretty thing. And winter roses do grow so well in the North. I wondered, Lady Stark, if you could join me to take a walk alone around the gardens of Harrenhal?"  
Lyanna did not even glance at her brothers for permission.

"If that pleases your Grace," she grinned. "I shall. And please, call me Lya."

"Then I must be Elia," she smiled tightly, taking her arm. "I hear the gardens are quite splendid."

"I hear the same," Lyanna strode ahead, away from her band, while Elia had to rush to keep up, almost dragged along by her tight grip on her arm. "Although the view may be spoiled by the tents, don't you think?"

"Mayhaps," Elia mused, and then fixed Lyanna with a steely glare, deciding they were far away enough. "Tell me, Lya, what do you want with my husband? Do you want my throne? To humiliate me?"

"I do not want a throne," Lyanna sighed. Her steps decreased in length and speed, and Elia could finally walk at a comfortable pace once again. "I only wish to be free. Freedom is hard to come by web you are the daughter of a great lord, is it not?"

"Indeed," she was surprised by Lyanna's answer. "In Dorne, it is different. There is more freedom, but it was taken from me when I was betrothed to Rhaegar. In truth, the marriage should never have been mine, but Cersei Lannister's, if Lord Twyin's planning had come to fruition."

"Indeed?" Lyanna seemed amused. "Then who were you to be married to?"

"I believe my mother offered me as a bride to Jaime Lannister. Of course, she was refused, and Tyrion was offered as a consolation prize."

"But that is quite the offence!" Lyanna gasped, a teasing look in those dancing orbs. "So, naturally, your mother stole the throne from Tywin Lannister's grasping greedy claws."

"Naturally," Elia smiled. "It seems the Iron Throne sought us both out. Have you met Rhaegar before?"

"A few times," her face had closed off. "He was kind to me, even though I was as mocking and as pert as I am being now."

"He is smitten with you," Elia could see why. There was something about Lyanna, who was as charismatic as she was lovely. She suspected that Rhaegar's infatuation was not entirely due to the prophecy, but to do with how comely Lyanna looked, even now, in a simple grey gown and an iron circlet embracing her head like a lover.

"If he is, I do not like it one jot," Lyanna declared spiritedly. "To be a queen would be like being chained in a dungeon."

"What of being married?" Elia teased, aware that she was now fast friends with her rival, yet she could not stop it. "Will that be a noose around your neck?"

"I believe that Robert loves me," she pulled a face. "At least, he writes poems praising my supposed beauty. They make me sound like a fine piece of jewellery! 'Oh Lyanna, your eyes are like silvered steel swords sharpened on ice, diamonds glittering on the plain of pearls that is your smooth skin, your hair as lustrous as onyx and obsidian, your cherry lips red as the rubies which shimmer on the far lands of the Summer Isles...'"  
Elia burst out laughing, and Lyanna joined in.

"Will you be happy?" Elia asked at last, once she had wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I think I shall be," her smile was wondrous to behold. "He loves me, and dearest Ned assures me his is a good man. He may have sired bastards already, but while I may not make him stop, I can certainly make him allow me certain freedoms. He knows I love to be wild, loves indulging me in riding to high hills and bringing me flowers, and thinks that I look glorious with a sword in my hand."  
She smiled conspiratorially.

"He told me that there is nothing more beautiful than me in riding breeches astride a horse, bareback. So who gives a damn as long as I can be free?"

"He sounds like a good man," Elia smiled. Lyanna will not go willingly with Rhaegar, she thought with a heavy heart. "And what of my husband? What do you think of him?"

"I could not say," Lyanna answered. "He seems good, and kind, and just, and honourable. They say he is generous and wise. That he will be a good king."  
Elia said a silent prayer to the gods.

"Would you love him?" She inquired. So tell me, Rhaegar, that I never helped. "Could you learn to?"  
Lyanna laughed.

"Love should not be learned," she corrected. "It should grow, slowly or quickly, it does not matter. But it should not be learned from a book!"

"But could you?"  
She shook her head.

"You are married to him, stupid!" Lyanna looked affronted.  "I love him no more than a subject must love her king."  
She is wilful, with a stubborn soul, Elia realised.

"Lyanna," she started. "He is good-"

"I won't hear it!" She objected. "I cannot love a married man, no matter how good he may be, even if others think me so. I hear them whispering that I seduced him, well, that isn't true on the slightest. Ned's honour has rubbed off on me- I could never allow myself to do such things yet still judge Robert for his actions."

"What if I told you that you had to love him?" Elia demanded.

"Then that is no love at all," she declared, tossing her wild mane of hair. "I have told you, I cannot and will not love him, and quite frankly, I cannot begin to comprehend why you are telling me to do so!"

"I am telling you," a flash of inspiration struck Elia. "That if you do not love him, there will be consequences. Consequences for both you and your family."  
 _Gods, forgive me. I did not mean to lie, only to help Rhaegar, but he is half a lie himself._  
Lyanna was standing still, her eyes truly like steel swords at that moment. A lock of dark hair fell into her face, escaping from the constraints of the circlet, yet she made no move to push it back. Her face- her long face- was set and there was the slightest tremble to her lower lip.

"I cannot," she looked down suddenly, her hands toying with the fabric of her gown, working it back and forth between her fingers, pulling and pushing. "I cannot, I say, I will not love him, no matter what he does to my family. But I can pretend."  
 _Stubborn even now._ Elia was almost amused.

"Why does he need me?" Lyanna demanded.

"It is difficult to explain," she smiled. "A long story, you might say. You will be making up for my own shortcomings, I can tell you that, at the very least."

"I want to know," she said obstinately. "If I am doing this for you, then I have a right to know why exactly I am doing this and not some other highborn lady."

"I cannot," Elia sighed.

"Then I-"

"Will not?" She demanded. "I have heard this too many times now. You will  do this for your family- it is not too much to ask, only to marry a prince. It is an honour."  
She walked away at that, leaving Lyanna looking furious and anguished at the same time, until she was nothing more than a patch of pale cream clutching grey against burnt black brick and bright green forest.  
 _Winter must give way to fire, Lyanna Stark, and I remain unbent, unbowed and unbroken against you both._

* * *

  
  "I will not be accompanying you any further to King's Landing," Rhaegar whispered into her curly hair on the second day of their return journey. "I shall go back for my bride."

_Unbent._

"Of course, my lord," Elia smiled courteously. "You must do whatever you see fit."  
He smiled beatifically, the sun casting a halo around his silver blond hair as she climbed gracefully into the wheelhouse once again.

"I shall see you soon," he tipped his head and shut the wheelhouse door.

_Unbowed._

"Goodbye, Papa!" Rhaenys banged on the door, shouting through the window. "I will miss you!"

_Unbroken._

She sat still, staring resolutely ahead. _I will not pine after him like a lovesick maiden. I am a Nymeros Martell, the blood of Nymeria, a warrior queen, of the kings of Dorne and of the Targaryens themselves._ She gathered the red silk of her dress into her fists, and was suddenly struck of another woman- a girl, in truth- doing the same as someone walked away.  
 _Lyanna Stark, what have I done to you?_

She would not cry, she vowed as she bunched her skirt again. The fabric appeared to be scarlet, a nod to the black and red of the Targaryens, but she knew that it was truly for the red sun of Nymeria. She turned it this way and that, admiring how in certain lights, there appeared to be suns and spears set into the fabric.  
 _Dorne has two weapons, the sun and the spear, but the sun is the deadliest by far._  
She could be the sun, while Rhaegar could be the spear, seemingly the most powerful, whereas the sun had a quiet skill, slowly killing and driving men mad. She could weaken them, she knew it. She smiled widely, as radiant as the sun.  
 _They may not fear me now, but they will in time. I can burn their kingdom down as they sleep. Let Aerys command me now, I shall quietly obey and then stick a sword through his rib cage, the quiet slide and whisper of hot blood flowing down her arms and into onto the bodice of a dress and_ -  
The thought occurred to her as quickly and as fleetingly like the flutter of a butterfly's iridescent wing, and just as sudden as that, it existed. It was treason, she knew, but she could not bring herself to care.  
Let them do what they want, I shall show them the true meaning of Martell words.  
 

* * *

  
"Rhaegar has abducted Lyanna Stark," Grand Maester Pycelle announced to the court.  
 _Oh dear, what a surprise._

"A lordling, by the name of Baelish, writes to inform us that Brandon Stark rides to King's Landing in order to kill you, your Grace."

"I knew it!" Aerys shrieked in a strangled voice. "I knew my son conspired against me, I knew it but no one believe me!"  
He stood up quickly and cut himself on the swords of the twisted throne. He did not seem to notice. The blood dripped onto the tiles as he lifted an accusing finger, pointing to her.

"This is all your fault, you Dornish whore!" He hissed, his purple eyes bulging from their sockets. "I should never have wedded Rhaegar to you, you with the filth of the Rhoyne in your tainted blood! Capture this Stark as soon as he sets foot in the city! Bring him to me! And you, whore, come with me."

She did not feel a sense of dread at all, only disinterest as Aerys picked up a candle in his bedchamber. _At least it is not my chambers, I could never get the smell out,_ she thought when he pressed the flame to her arm. He watched with a gruesome fascination as the flesh blistered under the heat, chanting "dirty blood, whore, I shall cut you and your tainted children to pieces if the small folk turn against me" but she felt nothing. The skin sizzled and her head ached, sore where he had pulled it, and her cheek stung, bruised and bleeding from where he had hit her, and the candle burnt on and on and on.  
 _Let it burn. I am the sun, and a thousand candles could never hope to match a sun._

* * *

Elia felt detached once again as she watched Lord Rickard Stark, clad in heavy armour, burn to death, and Brandon Stark slowly suffocate. It was a terrible death, true, but she could only stare at Aerys, whose reedy laugh echoed throughout the throne room, the dancing green light emphasising his gaunt and hollow cheekbones. He looked half a ghost, most probably because his sanity was all but lost.

"Burn them!" He cackled yet again, inhaling eagerly the smell of roasting flesh. "Melt the frozen scum! Teach them the kindness of House Targaryen, how merciful we are to allow them warmth!" Queen Rhaella stood at the base of the steps, holding back tears at the smoke and chin quivering. The fading marks of handprints and burns still adorned her body, tracing a path all the way down into her dress, which was high necked and long sleeved, yet still failing to conceal the scars Aerys had punished her with. She shuddered with each sudden move Aerys made, jerking away and wincing, ten finally righting herself again.

Elia stood still. She could hear their agonised cries, she could hear their desperate pleading, she could hear the mutters of the court, but she could do nothing. Defying the king would be tantamount to death. I must protect my children, no matter what.

"Father!" Brandon Stark cried in his snow and stone armour. "Father!"

She could remember him from Harrenhal, a handsome young man with sparkling grey eyes and a wild laugh, huddling close to Lyanna, roaring with laughter, flirting with Ashara. They had disappeared into her chambers together, she knew. Shara had been grinning like a madman when they left the hall, and he had gallanty held the door open for her. He was so full of life then, yet now he dangled by a rope as his father cooked to death.

"Brandon," Lord Rickard's voice was growing steadily weaker, but it did not betray one ounce of the pain he must have felt. Elia admired him for that, all Martells would. "My son, it is alright..."

She wanted to cry for the poor old man who had an uncontrollable son and a too beautiful daughter. He was innocent in this madness, they all were. _I doomed them_ , she thought numbly. _If I had been able to bear more children, Rhaegar would never have sought Lyanna out. This is my fault, all my body's fault. I could have saved him. I might have, in a kinder world._ The Starks both fell silent, a kinder way of saying death, even if there was place for kindness in this world, after an eternity had passed, and Aerys rose from the throne, wringing his scabbed and trembling hands together. There was a feverish look in his deep and sunken eyes, his long silvered hair falling out in patches from his constant tugging. He tugged at Rhaella instead then, leading her into most probably his bedchamber for what would undoubtedly be another eternity for the Queen. Elia paused for a few moments, and then hurried to her solar, the sounds of her heeled slippers echoing throughout the stone halls.

"Stop it, you're hurting me."  
"Stop it."  
"You're hurting me."  
"Please."  
"I beg of you."  
"Please, stop. You're hurting me."

The screams chased after her, losing all emotion until they were nothing more than sounds in their repetition,  but it was haunting nonetheless. The ghosts of Rhaella and the Starks would be forever with her, she thought. The shadows flickered on the walls. _As we grow, shadows and ghosts grow with us._

The chamber door opened silently before she even touched the handle, releasing the sickly sweet smell of flowers.

"Your Grace," Varys simpered.

"My lord," she said curtly. "What brings you here?"

"Can a loyal liege not pay respects to the beauty of his princess?" He giggled, but his face hardened. "The king plans to declare war."

"Does he now?" She replied, toneless. Why should I care?

"You should care more than you do," Varys gazed at her with thoughtful yet narrowed eyes. "My little birds are everywhere, they tell me that Lyanna's agreement to go with our dear prince was masterminded, well, by you."

"She agreed?" Elia whirled around. "I did not think her capable of saying yes."

"Oh," he smiled. "She agreed, with the greatest reluctance. That did not stop her struggling like a caught fish when he took her from the Stark and Baratheon camp in the dead of night. I am told she had to be struck on the head several times before she was subdued."

"Why would Lyanna struggle?" She demanded. It made no sense.

"The prince broke the conditions she set," Varys did have his uses sometimes, then. "He told her that he would try to negotiate with her family."

"So he did not," Elia blazed. "And now we are going to war for him. My children will be in constant danger!"

"So now you care," Varys observed. She slapped him, ablaze with fury. _Let him feel true fire, sun fire._ "Now, your Grace, that's no way for you to behave towards me. I hold the key to keeping Aegon safe."

"Tell me," she demanded, all past malice gone, her heart thudding. I would never see him again, but he would be safe, safe! Her mouth was dry, she could feel her chest, hollow, collapsing due to the pressure of her heart.

"Babes at his age," Varys smirked. "Look all the same, except to the mother. And I have found the most extraordinary look-alike, whose father would be prepared to give him up for a jug of Arbor Gold."

"Not Rhaenys?"

"Rhaenys is older, her features are more distinguishable, her colouring rarer, her memories less fluid. I cannot. What if the false child were to blurt out the truth, or Rhaenys turn up back to the castle? It would be too difficult."  
 _He would kill her. But Aegon would be saved, sweet Aegon with his violet eyes and silver hair._

"How soon can you do it?"

* * *

  
   
"My lady, there is a letter for you," Pycelle handed over a worn scrap of parchment. She took it suspiciously, Pycelle had Lannister allegiances, he may have read it before. She walked away coldly, inspecting the seal. It was plain white, easy to forge. She split it open.  
   
How does the day fare, your Grace? I am well, here in your homeland, somewhere in the Dornish mountains. I believe it is called the Tower of Joy, what a fitting name! It is never anything but hot here, I can see why you were loath to leave Dorne. It is quite different from the North, although I do miss the snows.  
I hope to bear a child soon, and so make dear Rhaegar happy. He has been very courteous throughout the journey, you are very lucky to have him.  
   
Below it, was written,  
   
Help me, please, please. I will do anything, if you only save me from this hell. He calls it the Tower of Joy, yet it is anything but. I cannot send letters to my family, he only lets me send them to you, help me, please! Are my family safe? Father and Brandon have died because of my foolishness, but I must know, are Ned and Ben safe? Are they even alive? Help me, I beg you!  
   
The script was hurried and rushed, and she knew that Lyanna had managed to add her true message without Rhaegar seeing it. She gazed at the forlorn letter for a brief moment more before she held up a corner of the parchment to the candle and watched the flames slowly lick up, until the whole message was a blackened ruin, naught more than ashes. The light of the flame flickered on the wall. _For light to be truly brilliant, it must be in the dark._

Letters followed letters, all increasingly desperate, until finally there was nothing, only the memory of one last sentence on a torn fragment.  
"I thought sometimes gods listened, clearly, they do not- I am pregnant."

Elia felt a tinge of pity for the storm lord, who was coming to burn their kingdom down for a chance of life with a girl he could never love again, unless he wanted a poor broken girl who could not be repaired. He had said her eyes were steel swords on ice, now the swords were dull and the ice melted, compared her hair to obsidian, now the dragon glass was shattered, and told her that her lips were cherries, but it was no longer summer and the cherries had wilted and died.

* * *

  
Rhaegar arrived at the Red Keep, jubilant. Aerys appeared to have forgiven him, at last, they were reunited under the shadow of war.

Elia saw him only once.

"Does she love you? Do you love her? Even a little?" She demanded, clutching feverishly at his surcoat. "Tell me if this sacrifice has been worth it!"

"She is with child." Rhaegar stalked away. "That answers all your questions."  
 _That was a no, then._

Dispassionately, she watched him march away to war, clad in his black and red armour and the dragons streaming in the wind, dark against the pale blue sky. The army looked like ants from far away, crawling towards their doom. It almost seemed like she could crush them with her foot, would that she could.

Fire and blood, they cried, but the Baratheons had the fury, and even the brightest flames could not stand against the chill of winter. Four Great Houses united against the Targaryens, but only the Martells and Tyrells remained staunchly loyal, the Lannisters had not declared for anyone, despite Aerys holding Ser Jaime, and the Greyjoys still brooded on their dark and dank islands.

Elia was not a foolish woman. She knew that the odds were poor for her and her children, that Aerys had truly gone insane, and that if they lost, they would either burn or be murdered by conquering armies. She knew that she was standing on what would be the greatest funeral pyre the world had ever seen if the pyromancers were correct.

She could only hope that the end was quick.

* * *

  
   
Rhaegar was dead. Perhaps she should feel grief and misery, but in truth she felt as though all love and emotion for anyone but her children had been leached of her. She could see herself, all darkness save for two pinpricks of light.  
Her family would be proud of her now, she truly was a Martell, unbent, unbowed, unbroken, even taking lovers as the Dornish were wont to do. She would not face adversity screaming and panicked, but cool, calm and collected.  
 _We are to die, then. So be it._

* * *

  
   
Elia had heard it announced. The Lannisters were here, yet she still felt a sense of dread. She stayed in Rhaegar's quarters, hoping desperately and futilely, she knew, that it would perhaps calm her and the children. The stranger's babe lay in her arms, snuffling. He has a mother too, wondering after him. It was this thought which drove her to rock him in her arms until he quieted, looking so much like Aegon that she could almost convince herself that it truly was...

She could not afford to love him. The stakes were too high now.

Instead, she gazed out of the window, and was unsurprised to see a crimson army pillaging through the city far away. The flames were creeping closer and closer, the smoke was rising up to the blood red sky, and the screams growing louder and louder. She always knew the Lannisters were treacherous, and here was concrete proof. _Lannisters are painted in blood and loot, Targaryens in grief and fire._

Perhaps she should lock herself into Maegor's Holdfast- but no. She wanted to look death in the face, not cower and squirrel herself away. Better to die somewhat free, waiting at home, rather than in a locked tower. They would die anyway, it did not matter if her death came quicker.

Elia could only thank the gods that Aegon had been  smuggled to safety. Yet Rhaenys had been sentenced to death, though she had done nothing  except be born of a mad line.

 _Unbent, unbowed, unbroken_ , she reminded herself. She got up slowly, and cradled Rhaenys in her arms, her darling girl, her little princess.

"My sweet," she whispered. "You must hide, far away."

"Will Balerion protect me?" Her dark eyes were large in her dark face, innocent and unknowing of the dangers to come. _I wish I could be like you. When I awoke into this life at dawn, everything had been planned out for me. I shall go to sleep unsure and unknowing, blind in the darkness even though the sun should still be rising._

"Yes," she bit back a sob of despair. "He will protect you. Now run, hide, and don't make a sound. Do you understand, my sweet?"

Rhaenys nodded sagely and scampered to Rhaegar's private bedchamber. Only then did Elia allow herself to weep, but silently.  
 _She cannot hear me cry, no matter what. She must remember her mother as strong._

Then, all too soon, too many things happened at once,  the sound of footsteps and armour echoing in halls, a quick black blur of movement, and the throwing open of the doors.  
 _He is huge, he is huge, he is huge. Lyanna was right, the gods do not listen, they have no mercy, they have abandoned us, perhaps they never existed at all and we were just desperate to have the slightest hint of safety, to know that we did not suffer alone, to hope that we could win in the end._

The Mountain ripped the babe out of her arms and dashed him on the wall. The skull crumpled like parchment.

_Crunch, crunch, like autumn leaves underfoot, red leaves, red, red, there is so much red! The stones are weeping blood. The stones are fire and blood they are red red red dead._  
 _She could not contain her scream, but then clapped her hands over her mouth, but the sound was free and flying like a bird, not content to be stifled._ _I must be strong, I must be strong._

"Mother?" Rhaenys shouted. "Where is Balerion?"

_No, no, no, please no!_

She turned towards Rhaegar's bedchamber, her hands yearning for her child, but was pushed down on the bed _no no I must stand tall I must struggle they will never pin me down I do not bend to them_. She could hardly register the feeling of her dress being ripped apart _Aerys is right I cannot fight back I cannot push him off I cannot stop him I have the weak frame of a woman gods should have given women weapons or strength or poison coursing through our veins when he made men monsters for we can never stop them why is he touching me I never wanted to be touched I never asked him but I must be strong I cannot scream, because Rhaenys is crying out for her mother! I must help her, I must._  
"Father? Is that you-" then the sickening sound of silence, split only by a pitiful child's scream, then silence yet again, and she could hear the scream scream screech screech squelch squelch slick slick of a whispering blade from far away _it is calling to me I am not here I am not here_ and the man returned with blood dripping down his dirk and a limp body _it is too small it is too small to be dead it is too small to be Rhaenys sometimes I think I am nothing without being a mother they always told me that so be alive no Rhaenys be alive for your mother be alive for her I am begging you my poor sweet girl Oberyn will kill him for this I promise you just please be alive_ and a trail of red dragging on the floor _Lannister crimson I knew they were treacherous_ and there was a strange sensation between her legs and she wanted to make it stop _why wouldn't it stop it hurts no it does not hurt I feel nothing it does not hurt_ and there was blood all over her naked body _when did that happen_ and she shut her lips and her eyes and distorted her features into a smile _I will not cry for them, they will not have the pleasure of hearing me scream or shout I will be silent and say nothing they will never hear me beg for mercy I will not let them I will never give them the power I will not shatter like broken glass on golden sand I will smile and the sun will blind them I will teach then what a Martell is made of_ and then a hysterical laugh bubbled out of her _I have gone mad I have gone mad_   then there was a wet feeling and then a bad feeling in her head _it hurt why did it hurt_ followed by a wet hot feeling like she was dissolving and disappearing into the air and then red _Martell red or Targaryen red or Lannister red I don't know I don't know I do not know_ and then darkness and all she could think was _unbent unbowed unbroken_.  
 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, Elia is massively OOC, Lyanna is massively OOC, and I got the fucking Martell words wrong how could I get them wrong I'm an idiot and the only excuse I have is that I wrote this on a carefree summer day in 2012 when I was merely a foetus and I'd only just finished AFFC for the first time so that is my reason I can't believe I even published this without proofreading I just found it sitting in my Blackberry notes and was all like I'll upload this to AO3 because I liked the format of AO3 and the ending (I didn't read the rest I only read the end) okay bye
> 
>  
> 
> HOW DID I GET THEIR WORDS WRONG IT'S LIKE SAYING STARK WORDS ARE "WINTER FAST APPROACHES" OR THE LANNISTER ONES ARE "HEAR ME SHOUT" OR THE BARATHEON ONES ARE "WE ARE ANGRY" I AM FURIOUS WITH MYSELF  
> why do i not reread my works until it is too late


End file.
